Interview recorded by Royce Jenkins, a reporter for the
Texas Lubbock Dispatch

My name is Clyde Barrow and I am a thief, a murderer and a product
of wealth inequality.

You may know me from the shenanigans I got caught up in with the
love of my life, Bonnie Parker. Most folks think Bonnie and Clyde got cut down
in a hail of bullets outside of Sailes, Louisiana in 1934, and most folks
figured we got what was coming to us — neither is exactly true.

I ain’t proud of the things we done, but I’m not exactly ashamed
either. I wish no one had died, that’s for certain, but when the system is stacked
against you from the get go, things are going to turn out bad. I always say,
you kick a dog long enough, one day, you’re gonna get bit.

In my day, it was the Great Depression that lit the fuse. Right before
that was what they called the Gilded Age, with the Robber Barons — the captains
of industry — rigging all the laws, so them and their pals could carve off
bigger and bigger slices of the pie until the whole thing came crashing down
like an outhouse in a tornado.

You think it was the rich that suffered? If you know your history,
you know that ain’t true. It was the poor folks who live hand-to-mouth who paid
the price. Me and my family, our neighbors, we was the ones standing in soup
lines and living under bridges, with no jobs and no hope.

As a result of that, I grew up dirt poor in Cement City, a little
hellhole outside of Dallas, Texas. There wasn’t but two ways to make it out of
Cement City: dead or in prison.

I tried to play it square, tried to get a job, but there wasn’t no
jobs to be had and what there was didn’t pay enough scratch to get by. Sound
familiar?

Rooting around in the dirt for a dying wage, like a hog under an
acorn tree, well that wasn’t for me. No sir. I figured if the fat cats could
take what they wanted, I could too. Only problem was, when some no-account like
me steals a broken-down car or a truck full of turkeys, well them old boys running
America, well, they just couldn’t have that.

Right away I ended up in jail — and they made me work for free inside
prison. The bosses, them at owned the prisons, actually profited by keeping me locked up. The prisons today are full of young
men and women who try to get by selling weed, but they sure ain’t overcrowded
with the Wall Street sharks that caused the latest Great Recession and stole
hundreds of millions in the process.

Ain’t we learned nothing from history? Can’t hardly believe were
running through the same thing today. The robber barons damn near ruined this
country, and they’re about to do it again.

Me and Bonnie helped out in 1934 by keeping old FDR safe from an
assassin so he could put in the New Deal, giving the working man a voice with
unions, regulating Wall Street and so on. But money has its own gravity, and
now the super-rich are pulling the government levers behind the scenes to make
it even harder for the working class, even though they tell us to our faces
that they ain’t.

In this day and age, wealth inequality is even worse than at the
height of the robber barons in the 1930s. Right now, in America, the top ten
percent of the country controls damn near 80 percent of the wealth. And it gets
worse the richer they are. What do they need all that money for?

They’re spending billions trying to convince us about some trickle-down
nonsense. Saying if they get taxed less and if they don’t have no regulations
and if the government doesn’t invest in public programs it will all be
magically better for the working man! That’s a load of manure. It wasn’t true
in 1929 and it sure as hell ain’t true now. That’s like saying the working
class might get a few more scraps falling from the rich folks’ dinner table if
they just pile up even more mountains of food on their fancy plates. It’s all a
damn lie.

Got to be blind to not see that we’re speeding head first into
something even worse than the Great Depression. Don’t know why rich people
can’t just do the right thing. Recognize that profits are for everyone working
to make them, not just to be hoarded by the ones lucky enough to own the
capital. There’s more than enough money to go around, still leaving plenty for
the rich to have their yachts and jets.

I ain’t suggesting people pick up guns and start robbing and
running, like me and Bonnie. That won’t get you nowhere but in jail or dead in
a ditch. But I am suggesting folks wise up to the real criminals who keep bleeding
the working class, squeezing the disenfranchised and lining their pockets, all
from the tops of their gilded towers.

Me and Bonnie may have been murderers and thieves, but we knew
what we were doing was wrong. I ain’t so sure about this new crop of Robber Barons.
That scares me more than looking down the barrel of a Tommy gun.

In an alternate timeline, legendary lovers Bonnie and Clyde are given one last shot at redemption. Thrust into a Depression-era fight against greed they didn’t ask for, but now must win in order to save themselves and their families, will the notorious duo overcome their criminal pasts and put their “skills” to use fighting for justice for the working class?

The story begins in 1984 when reporter Royce Jenkins gets a tip to meet an old woman at a Texas cemetery. Cradling an antique rifle and standing over a freshly dug grave, the old woman claims to be Bonnie Parker. Turns out, she says, it wasn’t Bonnie and Clyde who were ambushed fifty years earlier. Instead, the outlaws were kidnapped, forced into a covert life and given a deadly mission—save President Roosevelt from an assassination plot financed by wealthy industrialists determined to sink the New Deal.

Cutting back and forth between the modern era where the shocked reporter investigates the potential scoop-of-the-century, and the desperate undercover exploits of Bonnie and Clyde in 1934, Resurrection Road is a page-turning sleep-wrecker.

Bonnie and Clyde. Saving American democracy, one bank robbery at a time.

Today, I’m chatting to mother-of-one and recent widow,
Hattie, about her views on the world and current affairs in general. Welcome,
Hattie!

Thank you. I’m a
little nervous, to be honest. I try to keep up-to-date with things, but I get
upset when I watch the terrible atrocities being committed in the name of
politics or religion. Or young children dying from preventable diseases or
hunger. Gary – that’s my late husband – used to have to turn the TV over
sometimes when I burst into tears.

Do you read a daily newspaper? Either a hard-copy or online?

I do skim through the
Daily Mail online most days, but I get side tracked reading about celebrities
or the latest ‘must have’ beauty treatment. I like The Times occasionally, for
reviews and features mainly. Our local newspaper seems to be filled with
stabbings, robberies and pensioners getting beaten up for the sake of a few
pounds. It’s not like I live in a bad area, it just seems the world’s got
nastier overall. As for politics, I can’t believe the mess we’re in right now.
Brexit, Catalonia seeking independence, Trump as president – or, that muppet in
the White House, as Gary called him – we seem to be sinking deeper into chaos
and division.

If you could change one thing right now in the world, what
would it be?

Crikey, there’s so
much I’d love to change. Where to begin? I guess I’d stamp out racism,
religious intolerance and any kind of bigotry. We’re all people, whatever our
beliefs or skin colour. It breaks my heart when I see people killing each other
because they disagree or they think their race is superior.

You lost your husband, Gary, in a terrible accident. I am so
sorry. How have you managed to cope?

It’s not been easy,
but my friends and family have been wonderful. The biggest thing to come out of
it has been how it’s changed my attitude to death.

What do you mean, Hattie? How did you view it before, and
what has changed now?

Erm, it’s a bit
difficult to explain. Sorry. I don’t want to sound like a crazy person. I
always believed that death was the end, that once you were gone, that was it.
Now …

I’m intrigued! Have you visited a psychic, or something like
that? Do you have a sense that Gary is still watching over you?

(There is a long
pause, punctuated by some laughter and what sounds like a male voice).Listen, let’s just say
I’m much more open-minded these days. There are things in this world we can’t
always explain. Losing a loved one is so hard, but maybe it’s not always the
end of the road … sorry, can we change the subject?

Of course. You have a son, Johnny, who is twenty, I believe.
Do you think life is harder for young people now that when you were that age?

Oh, without a doubt.
On one hand they have the internet, social media, mobile phones and so on. So
much information at their fingertips, but is it all for the good? I read about
cyber bullying and people being persecuted online because of how they look. Everything’s
disposable, and if you don’t have the latest gadget or the trendiest clothes,
you can feel like a failure. Then there are all these students coming out of
uni knee-deep in debt, and lucky to earn minimum wage. Johnny – well, he
decided uni wasn’t for him – is writing a book on the subject. Although I
haven’t seen much evidence of it so far! He’ll probably still be living at home
when I collect my pension. That was a joke – I hope.

It’s been lovely to chat to you, Hattie. I thought I heard
someone with you. Is that Johnny? Has he been sitting with you during our
interview?(Another pause, and
the sound of something like a bell).No, he’s not here. It
was … someone else, but they’ve gone now. Thank you for having me.

Hattie Hastings is happily married, even if
husband Gary drives her up the wall at times. When tragedy strikes, she is left
alone and heartbroken, with only an assortment of family and friends to prop
her up.

Struggling to cope, she is left reeling when
her deceased other half returns, popping up at the most inappropriate times.

Hattie can't convince anyone that Gary has
returned. Not even best friend Cat – now free from the cruel and controlling
Stewart – will believe her.

Why has Gary returned? And what will Cat do
when her slimy ex-husband tries to worm his way back into her affections?

The Haunting of Hattie Hastings will make you
laugh, cry and count down until Part Two …

About Audrey Davis

Audrey Davis

Scottish-born
Audrey studied journalism in Edinburgh more decades ago than she cares to
admit. She cut her writing teeth on provincial newspapers (using a typewriter)
and a London-based video magazine (another sign of her advanced years).

Engagement to her
now-husband Bill took them to Singapore, Australia and Buckinghamshire,
England, before they settled in Switzerland in 2002. Along the way they had two
boys, both all grown-up and living in the UK.

Her journey to
becoming a published author began with an online Writing Fiction course. It
took well over a year but, in June 2017, Audrey published her debut romantic
comedy novel, A Clean Sweep. It was quickly followed by a shorter and darker
prequel, A Clean Break.

The idea for The
Haunting of Hattie Hastings came from nowhere, just a random title that popped
into her head and from there grew into Part One of a trilogy. It comes under
the same genre, but has some poignant scenes and – hopefully – lots of laughs!
Audrey admits to being a worrier, and has always used humour as a defence
mechanism, as her friends will attest.

When Audrey isn’t
writing, she loves shows like The Walking Dead, American Horror Story and
Strictly Come Dancing (a strange mix, she knows). Her interests include cooking
(and eating pretty much anything apart from oysters), travelling and going to
the gym. OK, the last one is mainly to compensate for her passion for food!

Audrey would
describe herself as a ‘pantser’ rather than a ‘planner’, preferring to run
where a story takes her and scribble copious notes along the way. She’d love to
write a page-turning thriller, but fears her natural tendency to see the comic
side of life might be an obstacle.

Monday, 20 November 2017

When fictional characters move from books to the REAL WORLD. …from the mind of a fictional characterbyJulie Compton(a character from Louise Wise's Wide Awake Asleep)

"Julie Compton is already 'current'. She's a highbrow, business woman in joint ownership with an equally highbrow business woman. She's there, dammit. She's made it, despite her disastrous upbringing."
I sit back and admire my narrative that I've said about myself. Well, it's true I did have a disastrous childhood, and I dismiss all this nature V nurture rubbish giving lazy people excuses to sit on their arse and claim benefits from the taxes of hard working people like me.My dad left when I was about four. It's hard to remember because he kept coming back to secretly visit me--he couldn't give me up, you see, it was only Mum he wanted to divorce. Except I was a constant pawn in her games.She handed me to social services, and I ended up in care for two years. Those were the worse days of my life. When I came out, I was forced to go back to my mum despite my dad pushing for custody of me.But look, that's all in the past. I've moved on, and now I have my own back because I've put her in a home now!I sound smug, and I want to feel smug... except... I'm not. I'm sad that we don't have that mother and daughter bond. It's all too late now, of course. What's happened has happened. No going back, is there?So, no, I'm not one of those sad individuals on shows like Benefit Street or Can't Pay? We'll Take it Away who constantly bang on about their 'poor me' situations? I've picked myself up, dusted myself down and bloody got on with it!I started with nothing, and made something of myself... so why do I feel like a part of me is missing? I'm 49 years old, for Christ's sake! I should be settled. But I'm not. Something is missing from my life and I can't think what.

Julie Compton

(Julie Compton writing before
the accident and before 'shimmer man' sent her back in time to change her future.)

Introducing...

WIDE AWAKE ASLEEP

Julie Compton’s life should have come to an end in the car crash but instead she woke, unharmed, back in 1972 and primed to relive her life all over again.

Journey back to the 70s and 80s England where Julie’s forced to jump through the eras, occupying and controlling the bodies of people she knew as a child. She must work out which destiny path was the wrong one, wondering all the while if her body, back in 2016, was dying in her car.

With each momentous change, her memories transform and she realises she’s not only changing her future but the futures of those around her.

A paranormal, time-slip adventure set in the real town of Northampton in England.

Excerpt taken from chapter five

Wide
Awake Asleep

My head was buzzing; thoughts
that weren’t mine invaded my mind. I looked over at the mirror on the dresser,
then back at the contents of the bag on the bed. I looked at my hands. I’d
noticed they looked different before, but I’d ignored their appearance—had to
ignore it, to preserve my sanity.

A stranger’s thoughts persisted
in my head. Mundane things of another life that I didn’t belong to.

I looked at the mirror again,
then rose and forced my legs to move forwards. I knew I’d look different, but
the jolt of shock hit me anyway. Instead of seeing my own face, I saw a young
woman with a thin, pockmarked face and awful buck teeth. Instead of my blonde
no-nonsense bob, my hair was long and brown. A wave of nausea turned my stomach
as I stared at my reflection. I should be seeing a forty-nine-year-old woman in
her prime, not a twenty-something scraggy-haired woman. I should be
immaculately made up with perfect teeth and skin, not… not this.

An unexpected thought popped into
my head. Will I look more professional if
I put my hair up or should I leave it down? It wasn’t my thought. It
belonged to whoever’s body I was occupying.

One thought was spinning around
in my mind—and it was mine: I had died in the crash, and this was some sort of
afterlife.

Saturday, 18 November 2017

(a character from Kiltie Jackson's A Rock 'n' Roll Lovestyle: A Christmas Romance)

Dear readers,
today we are discussing the topic of media intrusion into the lives of people
in the public eye. Just how severe were the consequences of phone hacking and
how did they affect those involved. Giving us his views on the matter, I am
welcoming former singer from boy-band The Astons, and world number one solo
artist, Mr Pete Wallace.

Pete, before we
start, please can you tell us a little about yourself for the benefit of
readers who were maybe not fans of The Astons.

Of
course. I’m Pete Wallace and I’m a musician. I started off my career as one of
the lead singers in The Astons when I was sixteen. I’m now a solo artist, aged
33 and I’ve spent most of my adult life in the public eye.

Pete, The Astons
dominated the music scene for the best part of a decade, and were reported on
almost daily in tabloid press. Would it be fair to say you courted the press
attention in your younger days?

I
think it would be fair to say the PR companies courted the press on our behalf.
We were young and naïve and followed the guidance of those we believed knew
better. We were told where to go, where to be, when to arrive and when to
leave. We never considered that it was all engineered to maximise our exposure.

But surely you
must have realised that being in the tabloids every day was no bad thing? It
made you famous after all.

We
were four lads who just wanted to make music. Of course we didn’t mind the
trappings that came with becoming famous and successful but we never fully
understood, at that time, the consequences that would accompany being ‘media
darlings’.

And what would you
say those consequences were Pete?

Predominately,
the loss of one’s privacy. I can’t even begin to explain how it feels to look
out of your window and see people raking through your rubbish bins, trying to
find something they can report upon in their newspaper the next day. I mean,
does anyone really want to know what my
preferred brand of butter is?

Some would argue
that people have a right to know.

I
think there should be limits on what people have a right to know because,
without them, people will never be satisfied and will always clamour for more.
This results in those in the public eye being harassed more and more frequently
in order to feed the beast that society is becoming. When all is said and done,
most musicians and actors are simply trying to do a job which provides
enjoyment to many people. When we choose to become entertainers, we don’t sign
a document which signs away the rights to some kind of private life.

But the public are
the people who pay for your music and watch the films. Without them, you don’t
have a career.

It
is fully appreciated that the general public are essential for our careers but
being in the public eye doesn’t, or shouldn’t make us public property.

Further to the
phone hacking scandal which came to light a few years ago, a number of cases
are still being tried at this time. Were you affected by this?

Yes…
Yes, I was. Well, my family was. (hesitation…)
A very close friend of my father was caught up in the London bombings in 2005.
My father knew his daily commute and knew immediately that he would have been
in the area where one of the bombs detonated. He tried to call him many times
and left several messages asking him to call back. When it was reported later
that ‘a close family friend of Pete Wallace’ had been killed in the attacks, we
were gobsmacked because very few people could have known this information. This
resulted in my parents being hounded even further by the paparazzi who were
doing all they could to dig up any snippet of information on the victims. This
was the final straw for them and, not long after that, they began to make plans
to move to Austria.

Were you affected
in any other ways by this?

Well
it pushed my family into moving to another country. This caused a breakdown in
the close relationship I had with my parents. Something had shifted and it
never felt quite the same after that. I also firmly believe that, had they not
felt compelled to leave the country, they would still be alive today.

Are you referring
to their death when you were in hospital?

That’s
correct. Once again, the lies printed in the press caused them pain and upset.
They died believing an untruth.

Would you like to
expand further on that?

No
thank you. It’s probably best that I don’t.

Fair enough. So,
to finish, do you feel measures should be put in place that restrict what the
press and media can report?

I
feel that the ‘freedom of the press’ is taken too literally and that some
boundaries need to be put in place. If public figures are merely being hounded
because their picture on the front page helps to sell copies, then that has to
be curbed. If there is a legitimate investigation going on where it is believed
somebody is involved in say sexual exploitation or fraudulent activities, then
these should be looked into thoroughly. The press need to use more common
sense. They do a great job in exposing wrong-doings but they undermine their
credibility when they report lies and untruths that caused untold damage to the
lives of innocent people.

Pete, thank you
for being here today and for sharing your thoughts with us.

Thank
you for having me as your guest.

Introducing...

A Rock 'n'
Roll Lovestyle

So who exactly is Sukie McClaren?A Christmas-loving Cat lover? A Sound of Music Fanatic? A Fiercely Independent Woman?

She is all of the above. And when she is sent to Salzburg for a business trip a few weeks before Christmas, she thinks all her dreams have come true. As she packs her suitcase, the only things on her mind are Christmas markets, lots of snow and finally seeing the Doh-Ray-Me steps. Becoming the new best friend of the world’s hottest rock-star doesn’t even get a look in.

Pete Wallace is a reclusive, reluctant,
rock-star and the world’s Number One, best-selling, male solo artist. It’s been
three years since his last tour and he’s now preparing to go back on the road
again. A week in Salzburg, schmoozing with the music press, is one of his worst
nightmares.

He can’t wait for it to be over.

When Pete and Sukie meet, it is the beginning of
a beautiful friendship. Lonely for too long, he begins to remember how it feels
to be happy and, for the first time in six years, Christmas feels special
again.

Eduardo di Santo however, whose kid sister
suffered life-changing injuries at a Pete Wallace concert, is all set on
getting revenge. When Pete’s new tour is announced, he begins to make his
plans. Plans that will culminate in Pete's demise.

Will Pete and Sukie’s new friendship die before
it has a chance to flourish?

Kiltie
Jackson grew up in Glasgow, Scotland but currently lives in Staffordshire.

Kiltie first began writing 'A Rock 'n' Roll Lovestyle' over
ten years ago. The project was shelved on Chapter Seventeen as she felt
the story wasn't flowing as she would like it to.

In her own words "The images in my head would not come
out of my fingers!" Fast forward to November 2016 when, having
finished reading Lizzie's Christmas Escape by Christie Barlow, she
read more about the author and was inspired with how Christie herself came to
be a best-selling author.

In that thunderbolt moment, Kiltie knew - with a deep
certainty- that she needed to reacquaint herself with 'A Rock 'n' Roll Lovestyle'
and begin writing again. She did this in January 2017 and found the words
flowed faster than she could type them. Finally, the time was right for
her to write her novel.

She currently has a further ten plots and ideas stored in
her file (it's costing a fortune in USB drives as each story has its own
memory stick!) and the ideas still keep on coming.

She now lives her life around the following three quotes:

"I love having weird dreams, they're great fodder for book plots!""Why wait for your ship to come in when you can swim out to meet
it?"
"Old enough to know better, young enough not to care!"

Steve Regan, fictional undercover cop,
if allowed to peer into the future would throw his hands up in horror to learn
of the existence of the UK’s Undercover Policing Inquiry.

“Hey, Red! I had a strange dream about
the future. The government had set up an inquiry into undercover policing.”

“You have to be kidding me!” Red said.

Steve Regan

Regan carried on explaining all to his
undercover buddy, Red.

As he explained, Regan came to understand
the inquiry became necessary owing to undercover agents in London’s
Metropolitan Police Service (MPS) regularly engaging in dirty tactics.

They were part of a department so secret
that the Commissioner of the MPS knew nothing about it or its activities.

One of the most abhorrent things that
came to light was many of these undercover cops had taken on false identities
stolen from dead children. To make matters even worse, if that is possible,
many struck up long term relationships with women who had no idea who they were
really sleeping with. Some of those women had children by these undercover
cops.

In Regan’s dream he initially believed
such disgusting tactics could never have existed in his time, 1976. But, then
he learned that it had been going on as far back as the early 1970’s. He
thought, ‘No wonder I never knew if the MPS Commissioner was in the dark.’

Regan started to dig deeper around the
issues unearthed by the government inquiry. He did not know whether to laugh or
cry at some of the things he discovered.

“Hey Red! The College of Policing have
issued a rule book about what undercover cops can and cannot do. Guess what? We
are prohibited from using drugs!”

“Now you’re talking crazy, Regan. What’s
that stuff you’re smoking?”

Portrait of Steve Regan

credited to Stephen Bentley

by Kelly Wallace-Artieri

In disbelief, Regan read all about these
new guidelines for undercover cops in the new rule book. He was alarmed to read
that UC’s, as they are now called, would be subjected to random drug tests and
if found to be positive would result in both disciplinary and criminal proceedings.

“The future’s gone mad. How the hell do
they expect us to infiltrate drug cartels if we can’t use ourselves? Okay, no
one would inject but smoking weed or an occasional line of cocaine is all part
of the job.”

Red nodded his head.

“What are we supposed to do? Tell them
we can’t smoke weed because we are undercover cops?” Regan said.

Regan reflected a while before he
finalized his conclusion. “Red, my friend, this is what happens when the bad
apples lose all sense of propriety. It screws it for everyone. I’m glad I was
undercover back in the day. I don’t like what I see in the future.”

Steve Regan, undercover detective, is tempted by the riches of drug smuggling so he can be free of debt, police bureaucracy, and help a loved one. He wonders whether he can go 'rogue' and cross the line.

Regan gets involved in one deal with a Miami-based drug lord. But is everyone who they say they are?

Short, fast-paced, high-impact entertainment, from an author who knows how to suck you into a story.

Linda and her friends receive an unsigned invitation to a party at a deserted house. They are pursued through revolving rooms and dangerous traps, barely escaping with their lives. Two of their own remain trapped in the house. Or so they think.

They must embark on a difficult journey, chased by unnatural creatures, not knowing whom to trust, to uncover the one controlling the game and everyone else in town. Who are The Dead? Are they humans or vampires?

The Dead Game has begun.

Excerpt from

The Dead Game

“I’ll be back for you,” Wolf held her tight against his body and
whispered in her ear, “I love the way you stand up to me with your flashing
blue eyes. Soon you’ll be mine, my beautiful ice queen.”

Linda couldn’t move her body. She was stuck in some kind of trance…she
couldn’t leave; she didn’t want to leave if given the choice. His voice soothed
her and made her think of love, passion, and great need: a need that could only
be satisfied by him with his expert hands and mouth. She knew that one day she
was going to be with him, to be joined with him.
His lowered his mouth onto hers and drew her into a swirling miasma of
unexpected feelings and desires. His mouth fully covering hers introduced her
to a new realm of pure pleasure. His powerful form enveloped her, making her
feel feelings that were foreign and untried for her. She couldn’t get enough of
him. She tentatively began touching his face and then his body with an eager
and unrelenting hunger. She didn’t know what she needed, but she knew that she
wanted and desired this beautiful man standing right before her. Her past life
was washed out of her mind, never to be considered again. She begged him to
take her with him tonight. In response, Wolf lifted her in his arms, as if she
weighed nothing, and turned to leave the party. His beautiful face looked
victorious and happy. His black eyes filled with passion. She hoped that it was
because of her. Then he looked down into her small face and gave a hearty roar.
While Wolf carried her in his powerful arms, a dark shadow flew out of
the house directly at them. Linda was knocked out of his arms, and Wolf was
thrown across the patio.

The bearded man
again, the one with the name Colin Tempest next to his photo. Someone I must
know. I have to answer.

I take the call.

A male voice.
“Issy, I’ve been trying to reach you but you haven’t been answering.”

I can’t
concentrate on what he’s saying. I say the only thing that comes to me. “Who
are you?”

“Don’t be
foolish, Issy. It’s Colin. We need to talk.”

It’s a voice
I’ve heard before.

“I can’t talk
now.”

He’s insistent.
“I can come over. Where are you?”

I look around
the room. It doesn’t look familiar. I say the only thing I can. “I don’t know.
I don’t think I’ve ever been in this place before.”

There’s a new
note of concern in his voice. “I’ll find a way to help you, to make amends if
you just tell me where you are.”

Make amends? So
he’s done something to me. He thinks the reason I’m not talking to him is
because of that.

“Tell me what
you did to me.”

“I’m sorry,
Issy. I’m really sorry but he left me no choice. You were the only one I could
turn to, the only one who might have convinced him to change his mind.”

“What happened
to Mike?”

“You know what
happened to him, Issy. He died. A heart attack. You must know that. Why are you
trying to pretend that none of this has happened?”

Mike is dead. I
must have known that.

Is this the
reason for these feelings of guilt I can’t control?

“I’m not
pretending.”

He pauses for
longer than he should. “The police have been here. What if they start
interviewing everyone? It won’t be long before they get round to you and me.
Whatever else is said, I need you to promise you won’t reveal our secret. You
know it would ruin me and my family.”

I don’t know any
secret. Why would he think I did?

“If anyone asks
it’s not going to be a problem for me to tell them I don’t know.”

“Thank you,
Issy. I knew I could depend on you.”

I stare again at
the profile picture of the bearded man.

He wants me to trust
him again but I know I can’t.

His voice breaks
into my thoughts once more. “Look, Issy. I’ve got to go. Something urgent.
Thanks for your help. Thanks for being so understanding. Thanks for
everything.”

He closes the
line.

I know that
what’s been said won’t last long in my mind. I make a note on the phone.